


Engaging the Senses

by Evilawyer



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-13
Updated: 2008-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilawyer/pseuds/Evilawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First effort at writing NC-17.  No effort made to use British English.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Engaging the Senses

**Author's Note:**

> First effort at writing NC-17. No effort made to use British English.

The Master lies on his stomach, legs spread like a butterfly's wings to either side of the Doctor. He's insane and murderous and cruel and every bit as beautiful as a butterfly to the Doctor right now.

“Oh, but you can forgive my insane, murdering cruelty, can't you, Doctor? You can forgive me everything you've always despised about me now that I'm here with you. Go on. Say it.”

“Be quiet,” the Doctor hisses. Of all the senses he wants engaged right now, hearing isn't one of them. Not unless it's to hear the Master moan.

He leans forward and runs his hands down the Master's back. He leans back to let his hands trace over the Master's ass, his thighs, his calves on down to cup the heels of his feet. He glides them back up the insides of the Master's legs, feeling warm flesh as he listens to the Master's breathing get faster and watches his back rise and fall with each quickened breath.

The Doctor tongues small, teasing licks along a path up the Master's back from the cleft of his ass to the base of his skull. Once he's at the top, he lays out fully on top of the Master and starts to mouth at the short hair growing on the nape of the Master's neck. He uses his lips to move the individual hairs against their nap and breathes his warm, wet breath into the Master's skin. The Master bends his head forward, giving the Doctor better access. He moves his mouth up and around to take the Master's entire ear into his mouth, exhaling into it softly and running his tongue wetly around the whorls. The Master squirms under him and mumbles incoherently. That's all right. The Doctor isn't adverse to incoherent mumbling.

“Roll over,” he orders as he moves back from between the Master's legs. The Master complies. The Doctor straddles him and lets his hands trace parallel paths down the Master's chest. He lets his fingernails scratch softly at the Master's nipples before they move down to skim his stomach. He lets his fingertips trace circles on the Master's lower abdomen and the protrusions of his hip bones before they trail down to take hold of the Master's cock, already half hard. The Doctor bends and runs his flattened tongue over the top of the head, making the Master jump.

“It's been a while,” the Master breathes, a hint of apology in his voice, “and you do so bring out the horny teenage boy in me. You'll have to forgive me if I go off like a rocket.”

“You won't,” the Doctor says, voice rumbling and lust-thickened, lips and tongue teasing the tip of the Master's cock. “I'll make sure of it. Just be quiet now and let me do this.”

The Doctor takes the Master into his mouth in one long downward swoop. He pulls back up, sucking gently to create a soft suction before he stops at the top and pulls hard until he reaches the tip. The Master lets out a choking sound that's somewhere between a gasp and a sob as he fists his hands in the sheet under him. The Doctor dips back down, squeezing the Master's shaft between his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he does. He takes him in almost all the way to the root before he swallows around him, then he starts up a hard sucking until the Master is moaning and thrashing and pulling on the Doctor's hair with a death grip as he yells “Stop, I'm going, I'm...”

The Doctor does not stop. Instead, he encircles the root of the Master's cock with firm fingers and keeps on going and going until the Master is a babbling, twitching wreck before he lets go. The Master erupts in the Doctor's mouth with a roar. The Doctor keeps licking and sucking and swallowing until he's emptied the Master out. Then he crawls back up the Master's body. The Master can barely move but he still finds the energy to speak. “Say it,” he says. But the Doctor says nothing, opting instead to kiss the Master brutally and ruthlessly, just like the Master likes it.

The Doctor's laid out on top of the Master, who's laying on his stomach again. The Doctor pushes the Master's right leg up, making his body lift up off the bed just a little so he can reach under him to take hold of his cock. He finds the Master is hard again, unbelievably hard, but he's not surprised.

“No wussy refractory period for us Time Lords, huh, Doctor?”

“None whatsoever,” the Doctor agrees as he starts up long, slow, clenching strokes.

The Master is ready for the Doctor, even though the Doctor hasn't done anything to prepare him. The Doctor knows this should be odd, but it isn't. The Master lets out a soft grunt as the Doctor pushes inside him. He groans as the Doctor rolls his hips. It's all music to the Doctor's ears. It's a whole symphony, written just for him, and now he's the conductor. He draws out each note with each stroke of his hand and each thrust and withdrawal of his cock until the Master comes again, moaning the Doctor's name and calling on gods like it's all the same thing.

“Say it,” the Master demands when he comes back down.

“I told you to be quiet,” the Doctor grits out through clenched teeth as he takes his hand off the Master's cock and closes it around the Master's hand. He's close, he's so close. He needs to get there. He can't think about anything else until he does.

“Say it,” the Master repeats desperately. “Say it now. Say it like you used to. Like you mean it.”

“Why...can't...you...shut...the fuck...up?” The Doctor asks in time to his quick, sharp, bruisingly hard thrusts. He puts a silencing hand over the Master's mouth, but the Master licks and gnaws at it until the distraction is too much and the Doctor removes it to wrap around the Master's hand again. He grips the Master's hand harder, pushing it into the mattress for leverage as he pushes in deep and holds it, grinding a little as he bites the back of the Master's neck. The Master arches his back as a whimper escapes his throat. He has the Master whimpering. Glorious.

The Doctor starts moving again, his thrusts slower and deeper than before, as he feels his orgasm gather force in the pit of his belly. It pushes up toward the root of his cock, making him speed up, making his pistoning erratic. He feels a wave of heat spread out ahead of his climax, running up the shaft and into the head. He can tell the Master feels it, too, from the way he groans and pushes back against each thrust, rotating his hips as he does.

The Master's voice runs the gamut from shout to whisper as he forces words out around pants and moans. “It's a trigger, you stupid fuck. Say it. I have to hear you say it or I can't stay. You have to say it now so I can really come back.”

“You'll stay until I'm done with you and you'll come back whenever I want you. You always do,” the Doctor rasps, a string of dark, lust-laden cruelty threading through his voice. It's not what he's feeling, though, and he doesn't mean to sound like it is. He just has to come, has to feel his body sing out at all the sensations the Master can make him feel. Then he'll be able to say whatever it is the Master wants him to say. He'll be able to say it until he's blue in the face and the Master begs him to shut up.

He feels a rising pressure, a spooling out of himself, a spiraling out of control. He grips the Master's hand even harder as he presses hard kisses across the side of the Master's hot face, his neck, his head. All he can feel is the Master's warm, writhing body underneath him. All he can smell is the Master's skin. All he can taste is the Master's sweat that he catches from the Master's temple with his tongue. All he can see as he pushes in deeper are flames that leap higher and higher and change from orange to blue to white hot just before exploding into brilliant light as he explodes inside the Master's body.

 _Same now as it ever was._ The disjointed, solitary thought bobs to the top of the Doctor's consciousness as he drifts in a place on high, but it makes perfect sense to him. Of all the lovers he's ever had, only the Master makes his universe burn.

He lies sprawled across the Master's back, absorbing the afterglow. The Master's asleep, or so it would appear from the way his eyes are closed. Can't have that. The Doctor shifts himself so that the Master isn't bearing his full weight, but he stays draped over him and nuzzles the back of his neck. “Now then," he smiles into the Master's shoulder, infusing his voice with as much playfulness as he can in his current, completely-shagged-out state. "There was something you wanted me to say?”

“Your timing is for shit, Doctor.” The Master stands near the dresser, folding back his French cuffs and pushing the posts of his cuff links through the holes.

“Come back to bed,” the Doctor says groggily.

“Such a disappointment you are,” the Master says as he swivels the catches of his cuff links into place. “You don't bring me flowers, you won't whisper sweet nothings in my ear.” He puts on his jacket and flips the collar down to lay flat. “What's a boy to think?” He turns around to look in the dresser mirror behind him.

“Don't go,” the Doctor orders, but he's too spent, too sated to make his voice carry a command. “Stay.”

“Bit hard, that, since I'm not really here thanks to you and your fear of ever doing anything that might remotely resemble making a commitment. You can't even fake it to get laid,” the Master scoffs to the Doctor's reflection in the mirror as he buttons the top button of his shirt and adjusts his tie. “Besides, I can serve just fine as your wet dream fuck toy even as I am. No need to come back to life for that.”

“I love you.”

The Master turns around and looks at the Doctor. His brown eyes are filled with a tired, ancient longing as his gaze slides from the Doctor's face down his body. The Doctor remembers that look, remembers seeing it simmer in younger brown eyes in an older, bearded face. The Master lifts his eyes to meet the Doctor's and his mouth curls into a sneer. “Too late.” His sneer turns into a broad grin. “I love this winning streak thing I'm on,” he says before he fades out into the blackness as the Doctor fades in from it.

The Doctor wakes up alone with his own hand wrapped around his own cock, both sticky with his own come, and the Master's name on his lips. _Same now as it ever will be._


End file.
